


On Dominance

by TheCrazyGeek



Series: On a f*cking wing and a f*cking prayer [8]
Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 19:59:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2038110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCrazyGeek/pseuds/TheCrazyGeek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malcolm Tucker is *not* happy at his Senior Press Officer. Jamie MacDonald learns what happens when you seriously piss your boss off. (Note, there is one hell of a punch-up between the two at first in this fic - but it gets resolved.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Dominance

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for violent imagery. Skip about half way down if you just want the smut/filth.

********

Jamie MacDonald thought he’d have a peaceful night-time hunt, catch and eat a snack before heading back to fucking work.

Unfortunately, few things ever go as planned.

He’d been just about to catch the pigeon he’d been pursuing when he saw a flash of grey out of the corner of his eye, and that was the only warning he got before he was slammed into at full force, knocking the wind out of him.

Jamie barely managed to recover his bearings and avoid falling, catching a glimpse of wings like blades, preened to a silvery gleam. Shit.

"Fuck! What the fuck, Malc!"

Pinion feathers scratched across his cheek and another thump between his shoulder blades a second later told him that whatever he’d done, Malcolm was out for blood this time.

"Ye auld fucking _cunt_ , that was my dinner!” he snarled, and beat his wings hard to gain some height on his pissed-off boss. The pigeon was long fucking gone now and he made a note to steal Malc’s wallet later to get a fucking vindaloo. “What is it this time, did they not give you your Horlicks at the old people’s home?”

 

Another high-speed gash of feathers scraped his skin and Malcolm’s distinctive voice came from behind. “Your mouth spends more time open than a Soho whore’s, ye stupid fuck. I _know_ ye’ve been talking tae Murray again!”

"Wouldn’t have had to if ye’d kept yer dried-up old prick in yer pants in the first place, right?" Jamie managed to gasp before getting an elbow to the throat for his trouble.

Malcolm wasn’t listening. He was completely lost in the thrill of the fight. Wiry and wild, all steely eyes and silver wings, fast as a falcon, his hands clawed for Jamie’s throat like talons.

Jamie felt a small thrill of victory when he barreled his full weight into Malcolm and sent the auld bawbag  spinning downward. He’d barely got the first word of an inventive insult out when a grey streak shot up past his face, slapping it on the way.

"I should have fucking cut your wings _off_ that time, not just plucked ye!” Malcolm was hovering right in front of him now, veins standing out on his forehead as he shouted. “You’re fucking feral, MacDonald. Why I dragged ye out of that fucking seminary—”

"—Cuntface, I left there on my _own_!” Jamie hated his past. Hated it being brought up in conversation and of course, Malcolm knew that.

Malcolm said something about Jamie using the Winged traditions and rules of secrecy as fucking bog roll as he kicked Jamie in the stomach. Fucking hurt, it did, with the strength of an Alpha behind it.

"The fuck do you know about _our_ rules and traditions, ye Wingless-spawned auld fuck?” Jamie spat, barely managing to evade another kick. Malcolm had his sore spots as well. “The fucking rules of secrecy are as useless as a clit on a nun, I have half a mind tae call a press conference and —”

The next thing Jamie felt was Malcolm’s talon-like fingers clawing at his face, and a handful of his covert feathers viciously torn from his right wing.

Malcolm intended to pluck him bare again.

_Oh fuck no you don’t, not again._ It had taken fucking weeks to regrow his feathers after his last plucking, and being grounded for that long was pure torture to a creature of the skies.

Grounded, his feathers used as fucking bedding…

"Go ahead an’ fucking wrench me bald then!" he yelled, backwinging out of Malcolm’s grasp. "Your fucking wingless missus didn’t half like bein’ shagged on _my_ fucking feathers!”

Enraged beyond all reason, Malcolm forgot his plans of slowly ripping off Jamie’s feathers and just shot towards him with the only intent now to maim.

Jamie knew he’d gone too far once Malcolm slammed him into the nearest building. He heard a sickening pop as his left shoulder dislocated, felt thin streams of blood trickling down his face — and Malcolm, relentless, ruthless Malcolm, was bearing down on him from above, all swift grey shadow, his great wings beating him about the head, his hands clawing, closing around his throat.

A predator is beautiful to watch as it goes on the hunt…unless you’re the prey.

He tried to fight back as he was slammed into a wall again, Ma MacDonald didn’t raise any weak lads, but his punches and kicks were not slowing Malcolm down at all. He was in a total mindless frenzy and for a second Jamie wondered if his Alpha was actually trying to kill him.

Malcolm tore him off the wall and Jamie took off as fast as he could to get some distance from this wild, savage and totally inhuman animal that his boss had become. Malcolm threw his head back and let out a screech like that of a hunting falcon, then spiralled upward into the night sky to chase down this wily prey. Now that he’d scented blood and fear on the air, he caught up with Jamie in a matter of minutes and rose above him before swooping down and grabbing Jamie by the throat.

Jamie tried to dislodge those hands before he passed out from lack of air, but Malcolm had him in a rage-fuelled steel grip and was not going to let go — so he had to try a more drastic idea.

Suddenly stopping and folding his battered and torn wings, Jamie dropped like a stone toward the roof of the gigantically high Natwest Tower. Malcolm couldn’t hold onto to the sudden dead weight of an adult male hanging from his clawed hands.

Jamie was able to spread his wings enough to slow his descent and do a fairly decent landing considering the circumstances. He only had a few seconds before Malcolm came down and continued trying to rip Jamie’s windpipe out of his throat.

There was only one thing that would stop this, one thing he could think of that would bring Malcolm back from this mindless blood-haze, but by God did Jamie hate doing it. It never seemed right and every instinct he had screamed against it, but he was really out of options if he wanted to get off this roof alive…

Submission.

Jamie dropped to his knees. “I’m sorry! Malcolm, I’m sorry!”

It didn’t seem to have registered; Malcolm dove forward, screeching like a falcon, and beat him with his wings some more, his thin hands once again closing around his throat, going in for the kill.

Jamie could have held out for a bit, in normal circumstances. He had the bigger wingspan, he could glide for longer distances, endure more. But he was bruised and scratched to hell, one of his arms was useless — and his wings were half shredded, bare and bloody in places, feathers of red-speckled black sticking out at odd angles in others. The truth remained: he was no fucking Alpha. Malcolm was far too strong.

"I said I was fucking _sorry_ , you stubborn auld grey Gorbals _cunt_!”

Malcolm blinked a few times, his grip on Jamie’s throat loosening. When the red haze receded and his head was clear, his grey eyes went wide with horror at the sight of his press officer and friend, bloodied and bruised on the rooftop.

***

"Fuck," he half whispered, his rage replaced with disbelief that he’d done all this. Every injury on every single part of the tattered, black-winged press officer’s body was due to him. Malcolm F Tucker, the man who famously stated he’d never raise a single hand to a woman.

But he had done to a man, and by God had he.

Jamie was slumped on the ground, his neck angled backward in a clear submissive signal that should, _should_ , have got through to Malcolm’s intellect and called off the beatings. They’d had punch-ups that ended like that — Jamie would be on hands and knees, his neck exposed, and Malcolm would climb on top, bite down on it, and reassert his authority by shagging Jamie’s brains out.

He tucked his wings back and knelt next to Jamie, brushing a careful hand across his wings to assess the damage. _God if he can’t fly again…_ the thought nearly made him throw up.

Luckily, there didn’t appear to be any broken bones or torn ligaments in Jamie’s wings, just blood and missing feathers. He remained sitting there, stroking Jamie’s back like he was some great cat while he tried to think of something to say.

Jamie broke the silence first. “Fuck, my fucking arm…”

Dislocated shoulder, by the look of it. Malcolm took hold of Jamie’s arm and bent it at the elbow, rotating and raising it until the joint popped back into place, ignoring Jamie’s screamed obscenities and the scent of his blood and terror still lingering in the air.

"Fucking Christ, what happened to you back there?"

Running a hand across his face, Malcolm wondered how to explain when he couldn’t. Not really. One minute they were hurling the standard insults and then Jamie made a comment about shagging Sam and all hell had broken loose. Malcolm couldn’t even remember most of the fight from that point on, just flashes of shoving Jamie into brick walls and —

"God I’m a fucking mess," he muttered.

"No fuckin’ disagreement there Malc," said Jamie. "Just why the _fuck_ did ye end up actually tryin’ tae kill me? I just talked to Nicola ye ken? That pisses you off but it’s never made you psychotic.”

An idea hit Jamie’s brain through the lingering haze of pain throughout his body. “It was Sam, wasn’t it? I made a comment about her and _bam_ , ye turn intae the grey fucking Hulk.”

Malcolm’s sigh, the slumping of his wide shoulders, was the only confirmation Jamie needed. His Alpha, a man who had shared lovers quite happily with Jamie in the past, had seriously fallen in fucking love with a wingless posh lass.

What a proper Jessie.

Wiping his bloodied face off on Malcolm’s shirt, Jamie got a noseful of his Alpha’s scent; after all the exertion this night, he was fairly reeking with it. Powerful, dominating, sensual — to Jamie’s nose anyway — and angry, the heavy scent settled into Jamie’s lungs and he started feeling much better. A hell of a lot better. He inhaled, and found he was growing hard.

***

Unlike the Wingless, the Winged had always acknowledged their more animalistic urges, been closer to their savage instincts, their love of fighting and fucking.

And for some people, the line between fighting and fucking is a fine one indeed, and easily crossed.

Jamie was already erect, his neck exposed, eyes pleading, thinking about Malcolm, all wings and talons and teeth, savage and terrifying and bloodthirsty and bloody _beautiful_.

"For fucks sake. Don’t tell me ye want to shag right now, ye over-sexed, jumped-up fucking masochist…"

"You fucking owe me, shitface." Jamie just smiled at Malcolm’s discomfort. "Actually, for all the shit ye’ve done tonight, I think ye should take me somewhere nicer than a fucking roof."

He really _was_ hard. Malcolm couldn’t seem to drag his eyes away from the large and very obvious hard-on tenting Jamie’s trousers. “Ye horny fucking freak…” 

"Oh yeah? How about ye then?" Jamie gave a delighted laugh as his hand pressed against his boss’ trousers. Malcolm was growing hard as well.

"Back to the fucking office, then, if you can manage it."

"Fuck that. Race ye to your place."

***

The damage to Jamie’s wings hadn’t been enough to affect his flight, and he _did_ try to race Malcolm across the skies, which did soothe Malcolm’s mind somewhat. It was dark enough that Jamie could fold his wings in and barrel toward Malcolm’s back garden without being spotted. Malcolm himself, having wings of a much lighter colour, had to make do with landing in a nearby tree and climbing down.

They were barely in through the door when Malcolm suddenly found himself with an armful of dangerously horny Scotsman launching at him. “Fuck,” he murmured as Jamie tried to dig his fingernails into Malcolm’s arse, “ye are one kinky fuck.”

"Shut it, ye auld cunt." Jamie grinned, and then attempted to stick his tongue right down Malcolm’s throat.

Only Jamie MacDonald, mad rabid Jamie, would try to jump the bones of the man who had just seriously attempted to kill him an hour earlier; only Jamie could get sexually excited at the fact that Malcolm could throw him around like a rag doll.

Malcolm shook his head and sighed, but he had to admit that he liked that about the wee fuck.

A decent violent fight was foreplay to his young, impulsive press officer, and once that was done, he was perfectly okay with being flipped onto the ground and fucked _hard_. Malcolm had always liked that; with Jamie you knew where you stood. Mostly.

The psychotic wee git was still ravaging Malcolm’s lips with tongue and teeth and squeezing his arse hard enough to leave bruises. Apparently nearly getting torn apart got him extremely turned on. Normally Malcolm would be making him bend over at this point, but he just let Jamie carry on. He was now grinding up against one of Malcolm’s legs — he could feel Jamie’s hardness even through two layers of trousers — and it was increasing Malcolm’s own arousal every time Jamie moved up and briefly pressed against his own insistent erection.

Jamie, through his lust haze of _got-tae-have-sex-got-tae-have-sex-got-tae-have-sex_ , somehow realised that Malcolm was just letting him go at his own pace. He stopped roughly grinding his cock against Malcolm’s leg and looked up at his face. “What’s up now, ye senile fucking pigeon? Ye’ve normally got your cock buried so far up my arse it comes outta my ears at this point.”

And the truth was that Malcolm couldn’t dominate Jamie, not tonight. This wasn’t a reassertion of authority, the fight had taken care of that. This was as close as he’d ever come to an apology; letting Jamie take Malcolm how _he_ wished.

Malcolm, for his part, was kissing Jamie slowly and almost gently, stroking his wings, smoothing down the ruffled and broken feathers, taking especial care to avoid the bare, bloody spots.

"What the fuck, you’re treating me like I’m a fucking china doll."

"Haud ye whisht, I’m fuckin’ apologising alright?" Malcolm whispered, and he walked backwards, bringing Jamie along, until his legs bumped the sofa and he laid down on it.

Jamie looked impassive for a moment, then his great flame-speckled black wings rose up in a victorious stance. Jamie was always so bloody emotional if you could read Winged body language.

Malcolm held his arms up toward Jamie. “Ye coming or fucking what then?”

Jamie lunged forward, grabbing Malcolm’s wrists and pinning them above his head and landing face down on top of Malcolm.

"Ye know I’m going tae fuck you, right?" He wanted to make sure his Alpha understood, as he didn’t really fancy another fuckin’ beating.

For his part, Malcolm felt an almost illicit thrill at Jamie’s question. To be taken, fucked roughly, have someone come into his body, was something he’d not had in years. Certainly not since obtaining Alpha status.

"Yeah, I know ye fucking Motherwell scrote sac, now are ye going tae take those torn clothes off or are ye going to just dry-hump my leg like a randy dog?"

Jamie had already started to strip off his trousers and kick off his shoes. He practically tore Malcolm’s trousers and pants off in fast and jerky movements, hungry and eager. He yanked open the drawer of the end table, where he knew a bottle of lube was kept, and he fumbled with the cap, nearly spilling half the tube into his fingertips.

***

Sam could not take her eyes off the scene she was seeing through the door. Jamie and Malcolm, both naked, which wasn’t odd, but Jamie was on top – and that was.

She watched it all with bated breath: the flexing of Jamie’s wide shoulders as he pushed his hips forward and backward, wings held up high, his heavy breathing in time with Malcolm’s. Her Mate was lying on his back with his long legs around Jamie’s waist and quite evidently enjoying himself, if the noises from his throat were anything to go by.

Moaning, panting, the sound of flesh against flesh, and intermittent Scots-accented fucking filthy talk filled the air, and Sam’s hand started moving of its own volition up to her breast. When Malcolm let out a long, throaty moan and asked Jamie “tae make me come,” she tweaked her nipple harshly and braced herself against the wall.

Fucking hell this was _hot_.

As the two men coupled on the sofa, Sam’s fingers were either twisting at her nipples or stuck down the front of her knickers – working her to an orgasm of her own.

***

An Alpha fucked, but was never fucked himself. That was what it meant to be Dominant, at the top of the Winged food chain.

But then again, Malcolm was born to Wingless, and had never paid any mind to ancient traditions shat out by the poncy, inbred, chinless Winged Aristocrats, anyway.

However…

Malcolm F Tucker the undefeated, the untamed, the great grey falcon of Whitehall who wouldn’t bow to fucking anybody, taking it up the jacksie from a man whom he could easily tear limb from limb, and nearly had… If news of that left this room, every small-dicked Winged commoner in fucking London would challenge him to a dominance fight, trying to take his place as Alpha of the Westminster territory.

He trusted Jamie, though; the man was nae suicidal and if he blabbed about this, he knew full well that Malcolm _would_ kill him. As for the other witness…he could smell Sam’s scent wafting into the room; she was close, but not entering the room or announcing her presence.

"She’s watchin’ us," Jamie whispered in his ear, and he nodded. He could tell as well as Jamie what that strong, sweet scent of honey syrup meant: aroused and fertile female nearby.

The knowledge that they were being watched sent shivers down Jamie’s spine. He’d never gone in for public exhibitionism, but Sam, Malcolm’s own Sam, watching him thrust his cock in and out of her Mate, well, that was something very different. “God, Malc,” he moaned, “I’m so fuckin’ _hard_!”

"Don’t be fucking rude to my Mate. Invite her in."

"I’m on top of ye, balls deep in yer arse. You don’t get to fucking order me about."

But he did. Even in this submissive position, Malcolm was Alpha, and wasn’t about to let anybody fucking forget it. He pulled Jamie’s head close by his hair for a rough, lip-biting kiss.

Jamie rolled his eyes and yelled “Sam! Do ye want tae join us for a bit of Malcolm-Tucker-getting-fucking-shagged-up-the-arse?” Malcolm clenched hard around him for that bit of insubordination, and Jamie growled and bit his shoulder in response.

A soft footfall from the door sent both men on high alert, and the sight before them nearly made them come on the spot.

Sam was pinching and squeezing her own breasts and panting slightly. “I’m, I’m fine, thanks.”

Jamie barked out a knowing, wicked laugh. “You want tae watch us, don’t ye? Want to see what I can do, yeah?”

Sam nodded, gasping for breath as her hands moved faster.

"God I love her when she gets fucking kinky," Malcolm said, and he inclined his head toward one of the armchairs. "How about you sit down over there an’ show us how fucking hot this makes you?" Even when flat on his back, Malcolm would still give orders.

It wasn’t something you saw every day, an Alpha of the Flock being taken up the jacksie instead of the other way round, so Sam decided to stay. “Make my Mate moan, Jamie,” she purred.

Jamie fucking whimpered in his throat when Sam sat down on a chair and immediately stuck a hand down the front of her knickers. He was thrusting harder, his injured black wings weakly fluttering. His hands stroked Malcolm’s down feathers, when they weren’t pulling at his close-cropped hair, making the communications director cry out at the rush of sensation.

Sam had one hand down her knickers and the other up her blouse, taking a very active interest in the proceedings on the sofa.

She managed to stop moaning for enough time to say:

"Jamie…start biting him."

Jamie didn’t need any fucking encouragement and was leaning into Malcolm’s neck anyway when Sam made her suggestion. He didn’t mind admitting to himself that buggerin’ your Alpha while his Mate sits near tossin’ herself off was making it damn hard tae keep control.

Honey-washed scent filled the air from the aroused woman on the chair and both Malcolm and Jamie got just that bit harder, bit more eager. Malcolm even arched back into Jamie’s touch and fluttered his wings, which was totally fucking unexpected.

When he bit Malcolm’s shoulder, the auld git yelped. “Jamie! What tae fuck?! I’m no’ a woman!”

"No, ye’re a fucking jessie!" Jamie bent even further forward, ignoring the pain from his bruised spine. "An’ anyway I bet ye like it if I did _this_ ,” and with that he sank his teeth into the bottom of Malcolm’s neck and bit down. Hard.

He felt Malcolm convulse under him, his whole body going stiff for a second before shuddering. Barely a second later, Jamie could feel Malcolm’s cock jump and spurt out a copious amount of come all over both their stomachs. It only took one look at Malcolm’s face in the throes of ecstasy, his neck muscles standing out in stark relief under his skin, before Jamie was flinging his head back and coming himself.

Within a few seconds both men were hard again; Malcolm was obliged to explain to Jamie, who hadn’t been matched with a Mate yet, that it was a reaction to the scent of a fertile Winged woman — one of whom was in this room.

"Oh fuck," Jamie murmured to himself as he felt Malcolm harden again under him and his own erection swell. "How many times we going tae fucking come then?"

A moan from the chair and Sam spoke up, her voice roughened. “As many as you both need to empty all your seed into…oh god!” Her voice rose and she spread her legs, fingers working frantically around her clit.

Her back arched as she felt her own  orgasm swell and build up inside her. With a sharp cry it burst, shaking her body with its force.

_Fuck I am so fucking screwed._ Jamie was stoned on the heady combination of his Alpha’s sweat and scent on the one side and the honeyed musk of aroused and fertile Winged woman on the other. He’d come twice already, two long fucking orgasms with him biting Malcolm’s neck hard enough tae scar on a Wingless, and he was already firming up for yet another. His pride was mollified by the fact that Malcolm couldn’t control it either. His chest was a splattered mess of come and his arse was red hot from the constant screwing from his Winged press officer.

A pair of warm hands wrapped around Jamie and rested on his chest, brushing over his nipples. “Relax into it,” breathed a soft voice in his ear. “The more you fight it, the harder it gets to cope.” Sam had evidently finished ministering to herself and was now touching Jamie’s bare skin with her wet and overheated hands.

“Wise fucking words,” Malcolm managed to gasp out as he came yet again, his stomach now opaque with come, his latest orgasm blending into the others to form a single mass of white, sticky fluid. “Listen tae her, unless ye like tae come so fucking hard it _hurts_ oh fuck not again!” His sentence trailed off as he grew hard once more.

Jamie tried to just accept what was happening, it was natural, it was normal, just ride with it. But Jamie MacDonald had never been a passive or patient person. He gritted his teeth and swore internally that this next one would be the last, that he’d finish after the orgasm he could feel bubbling up inside him right now.

It didn’t work. With a near scream he came, shaking in mixed pain and pleasure. And he was fucking getting hard _again_ …!

Malcolm, meanwhile, was trembling, his teeth gritted and tears streaming down his face. He screamed at the top of his lungs as the latest orgasm ripped through his body, as his cock spurted great ribbons of come, over and over.

Sam was stroking her hands across Jamie’s face now, her slick fingers leaving a snail’s trail of her own arousal just under his nose. Her hand moved away and she reached around him to administer the same touch to Malcolm. “Relax,” she murmured, “breathe in, you’ve made me come, both of you.” Her hand moved away and returned with renewed wetness from between her legs, and she repeated the actions. “I’m full,” she said, continuing to speak in that warm, low voice even as the men on the sofa started to pound toward their climax again. “You’ve filled me with your seed.” Her hands stroked down Jamie’s and Malcolm’s lean flanks and she waited for just the right moment before she spoke again.

The men’s cries became guttural and harsh; she had maybe seconds before they came again. Sam placed a hand on Jamie’s waist and on Malcolm’s and spoke clearly enough for both to hear:

“I’m carrying your child.”

Before they could react, Jamie and Malcolm both hit orgasm together, screaming, straining, and writhing as their overworked bodies tried to force out just one more pulse, one small spurt, before collapsing in a painful, aching, heap on the sofa, Jamie’s wings draping over Malcolm.

Mercifully, neither hardened up again. Even with Winged stamina, that had gone on far too fucking long for them both.

***

“Are ye really Nestin’?” Jamie asked, and looked a bit put out as Sam and Malcolm just laughed.

“No.”

“But—”

Sam explained further as she carefully started to groom Jamie’s feathers back into shape. “But those words, combined with the pheromones I was spreading on your skin, would send a signal to your body that Mating had worked, so you could relax and stop.”

“Malc teach ye that?” Jamie huffed as Malcolm snorted.

Sam smiled. “No, but we worked it out well enough.”

“How?”

“How do ye fuckin’ _think_?” Malcolm spat. “Do ye think I _like_ coming until four in the fuckin’ mornin’?!”

As much as he hated to admit it, sometimes he envied the Wingless. Wingless humans were so much fucking simpler.

"Get the fuck off me, ye great tosspot," Malcolm growled, pushing Jamie off the sofa. "I need to wash all this fucking spunk off."


End file.
